


Roadside Blessings

by natmerc



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character Study, Character of Color, Female Friendship, Friendship, Gen, Original Character(s), POV Female Character, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-05
Updated: 2009-04-05
Packaged: 2017-10-14 04:27:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natmerc/pseuds/natmerc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the past can't be left behind and sometimes you have to hunt it down to protect the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roadside Blessings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tinylegacies](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=tinylegacies).



> This story was originally published in 2009 for the LJ community femme_fic ficathon, with LJ user tinylegacies being the recipient. Reposted on AO3 Dec 2010.

The long trail of dirt spread out behind her. She could see it in her rear view mirror. It drifted slowly sideways with the breeze. It was a hot day, and it hadn’t rained in weeks. The dirt side road she was on was rail straight and barely two cars wide; the wheels riding comfortably in the two parallel ruts carved by traffic into the middle of the road.

Mary switched from the path behind her to the basket she’d cross-strapped in the back bucket seat with the two seat belts. It was still where it had been when she’d checked it two minutes ago.

“Dammit.” She saw the small side road she'd been looking for for the past half hour go by out of the corner of her eye, and instinctively slammed on the brakes.

“Damn damn damn!” She forced her foot off the brake, letting the car slide to a stop, and checked the back mirror again. The basket had only tilted a bit, and there wasn’t a sound from the back seat. When she looked up again, her car was halfway across the other lane. The low rumbling of her car engine was the only thing she could hear beyond the pounding of the blood past her ears. She was lucky there wasn't any other traffic.

She forced her hands to settle, and shifted the small Pinto into reverse, went back, stopped, turned and then shifted up until she was speeding down the other track. The dirt changed briefly to gravel, there was a jarring bump, and then the ride smoothed with the paved road.

When the old, beat-up bar came into sight, she felt her chest tighten. She was doing the right thing, no matter what her father would've said. It had been almost two years since she’d last been here, helping her father track down a ghost who liked luring young women into culverts. Her father had been using her as bait again, since her mother had had better things to do that week. That part of her old life was something she was more than happy to leave behind, even if the way it had ended had broken her heart. It didn’t matter that by the time she was sixteen, she’d put more ghosts to rest than most hunters would in their entire life -- her father had still used her as bait. When she’d complained, he’d told her to stop being so goddamn attractive.

Parking the car, she stared at the other cars in the parking lot. It was still early, just past suppertime, and besides her car, there was an old pick-up that looked vaguely familiar, a red corvette, and two other cars that looked to be held together with chewing gum.

Stepping out, she closed the car door again, hands resting on the orange roof of the two-door coupe as she weighed her options. Half her instincts were telling her to leave Dean in the car, that that he’d be safer there as she scouted the inside, and half, way stronger than she’d ever thought she could feel, didn’t want to leave him out of her sight.

Especially at night; she knew the things that hid in the night.

“Marion? Marion Brown!”

Mary looked up. Striding across the dirt parking lot was a tall, lean, long-legged woman in tight blue jeans, and a silver snapped brown corduroy top. “Ellen?”

“How you been, girl? Haven’t seen you for a dog’s age.”

Mary gave a quick, reflexive smile, trying to adjust her mind back to being "Marion", as Ellen had greeted her. That had been the name she'd been using when she’d first met Ellen and they'd hung out together all those months they’d lived in this state. Her father had always believed in leaving names behind whenever they’d moved, said it made things easier, but it meant leaving friends behind too.

“Good, I’ve been good.”

“You’re looking mighty fine.” Ellen gave Mary a quick hug, and then stepped back, hands resting on Mary’s shoulders. “There’s some dark circles under your eyes though. Some man not letting you get enough sleep? ‘Course, that can be a good thing.”

Mary laughed. “Yeah, you could say that.” She opened the car door, reached in to the back and the pulled out the baby basket. “This is my son, um, Donnie. Little Donnie.” The different name slipped out before she could stop herself or even wonder why she'd bothered. If was her father who like to change names and towns, not her. It was too late now though.

“A kid? You got yourself a kid.” Ellen ran a hand through her long auburn hair. “God help you.”

“Come on, like you’ve never thought of having one for yourself.”

“Me, a mom?” Ellen shuddered. “You know the type that hangs out at my father’s bar. I might like to flirt and play a little bit, but I’ve got no intention of being caught. Not by the type of man we get around here, and that’s all I ever meet.”

Mary shrugged. After the things she’d seen growing up, the hunter's life, and the type of men it seemed to attract, she knew what Ellen meant. “There’s some nice ones out there. It doesn't have to be a hunter.”

“You got yourself a decent one then? Or is he long gone?”

Mary shivered at the thought of losing John. But, no, she wouldn’t lose him -- not now, not in eight years when the demon had threatened he'd be back, not ever. And she wasn’t going to lose Dean either. “No, he’s fine. Just workin’ is all, and I wanted to meet someone here. Someone I heard was here anyways.”

“Anyone I know?” Ellen peered over the edge of the basket, reaching out a tentative hand and smoothed back one strand of dark hair. “Sleepy little thing.”

“It’s the car. Puts him right to sleep. I drive around sometimes, in the middle of the night, just to get him to drop off. He just loves the rumble of the car.” She settled the basket against her hip. “I got word that Suliman was around.”

Ellen straightened up, and put her hands on her hips. “Suliman? You're right, he is propping up one of the booths. What you want with that kook? I don’t think I’ve ever heard him string two sentences together that made sense. My father won't kick him out though, and some of the hunters keep paying off his tab.”

“I don’t need him to make sense, just to do something for me.”

“Whatever you want. Don’t think he’s dangerous, anyway.” Ellen shrugged. “Glad you found a keeper. I’m heading off-shift early; heading home for a quick shower, a change of clothes, and a hot date. You want to get together tomorrow? Maybe have a drink or something?" She paused. "You supposed to be drinkin’ with the kid ‘n all?”

“This is just a quick trip, Ellen. I’m hoping Suliman can help me, and then I’m heading back home as fast as I can.” There was a sound from the basket. “I better hurry. He gets cranky when he wakes up.”

“Good luck then. Leave your number at the bar. I'll phone you later.” With a wave, Ellen headed back across the lot. She didn't look back.

Mary watched as drove off in the Mustang, wheels squealing. Mary missed that just a bit -- the freedom to do whatever she wanted. To drive fast or brake hard whenever she wanted. Sure, Ellen worked for her father at the bar, but she was her own woman; she could leave if she wanted. She knew hunters, knew the types of things that they hunted, but it wasn’t real to her, it wasn’t something that she did herself.

That past was behind her now. She could keep looking back, or she could move forward. Just this one thing left she could try, one last secret kept from John, and then she was leaving it behind for good. She'd promised herself.

Settling the basket against her hip again, Mary went inside the bar.

It was dark inside, although the early evening sunlight was still bright outside, and it didn't seem to have changed at all since the last time she’d seen it. A few men sat at the bar, drinks in front of them. They looked at her when she came in, eyed her up and down -- dismissing her, her clothes, the baby basket -- no threat. That was exactly what she wanted. She wanted to be that young mother who’d never seen what they fought, and continued to fight. It wasn’t her battle anymore. Her father had paid enough for both of their exit tickets.

She spotted Suliman in the corner, a short black man with graying dreadlocks and old, mismatched clothing. He looked decades older than the man who'd babysat her occasionally when she was twelve. He’d been a powerful man, strong, quick and versed in the magical systems of many different cultures. He'd been renowned amongst the hunters as the one who could perform exorcisms that others wouldn’t even touch.

But that was before, and now was now.

“Suliman?”

Deep brown eyes looked up, skittered to one side, looked back, and then focused on a piece of mis-spelled grafitti carved into the wood table.

“You can hear me. Good.” Mary set down the basket on the floor, a pang of guilt hitting her hard. While the story she’d told Ellen had been true as far as it went, she had given Dean a sedative as well, to keep him from waking up.

“Marked.” Suliman’s voice was deep and resonant. She remembered her father saying he’d been a preacher in his younger days, before his curiosity made him travel down paths that had ostracized him from his family and his chosen religion. Her father had gone to him for help with a case, and they'd kept in touch intermittently after that; her father breaking his own rules until Suliman had disappeared five years before.

Mary shivered. She knew she was marked, marked down to her bones. Most of the time she worked hard to bury it, and it seemed like the harder she worked to forget, the harder it was to remember when she needed to remember, like now. Days and weeks would pass, and she’d forget her deal with that demon, forget the life she’d grown up with. Her life with John was good. She loved him, and he loved her and their son so much she thought he would die from happiness. Even when something went wrong, when they had a stupid fight over nothing like normal people did, it still felt right. He was already talking about buying Dean a baseball glove, and Dean wasn’t even crawling yet.

But she was marked. She knew that to be true, and she had to do something, try something, while she still could.

“Yes, I am.” She fell silent again, waiting for Suliman to speak again, but he didn’t, and the moments turned into a minute, and then another. She stared at him, and Suliman stared at the table. In the basket on the bench beside her, Dean stirred.

Suliman’s eyes skittered to Dean, then back to the table; as if it was a safer place for him to look.

“Is my son marked too, can you tell me? Please, tell me.” Inside her, her heart skipped a beat. She could face anything, but she couldn't face losing her new family.

Suliman’s hands started to shake, fingers tapping against the wood in a nervous rhythm. His shoulders hunched up, and his eyes squeezed shut.

Mary reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing tight. He flinched, shoving his shoulders against the hard back of the booth. She kept hold of his hand, mummering soft meaningless sounds she’d last used to comfort Dean when he’d had a week’s worth of colic.

The shivering slowed, then stopped.

“I can’t help you, Suliman. I can’t.” Mary closed her eyes for a second, then forced herself to look at him, to really see him. “I don’t know what curse you’re under or how to break it. I know you’re fighting it all the time. I can see you struggling.”

His dark eyes met hers for a second, then he sighed, and placed his free hand on top of their joined hand, his eyes following the motion.

“I can’t help you, Suliman. But I think you can help me.”

“Can’t.”

She blinked. A single tear leaked out and tracked down her right cheek. She ignored it.

“Fine. You can’t help me, but you can help my son.” She let go of Suliman so she could lift the basket over her, putting it down on the bench between them. “Bless him, Suliman. Please.”

She reached out, moving aside the long strand of baby hair that always fell onto Dean's eye. His small hand was bunched tight and shoved close against his face, one tiny thumb poking into his mouth where he sucked on it every few breaths.

“I need to know that he’ll be watched over, even if something happens to me. I know his father will look after him the best he can, but John doesn’t know the things that I do. He can’t protect him from the things that like to hunt in the darkness of the night,in the darknesses of our souls.”

“Bless him, Suliman. Let the angels watch over my boy. Protect him from those that hunt for souls.” Another tear ran down her cheek and then another. "I've seen you do it before, after you exorcised the demons from those people. You said it would protect them."

“Mark.” Suliman's hand, steadier now, reached out to cover hers again, although he still wouldn't meet her eyes. The tone of his voice seemed less of a statement than a warning.

Mary blinked, confused. “Would this put him in more danger than he’s in right now, with what’s going to come after me?”

Suliman said nothing.

“Please. For my father’s sake. For my son’s sake. Please, help me protect my son.”

He squeezed her hand, then let his drift over to cover Dean’s face. She watched as his long fingers traced both closed eyes, moved down the tiny stub of a nose, then shifted aside Dean's small hand to trace across against Dean's mouth. Like a magnet, Dean's hand moved back as soon as the Suliman went on to trace each eyebrow and along the rim of each ear.

Suliman exhaled, a long drawn-out breath sigh, then he reached up, licked his thumb, and pressed it down against Dean’s forehead. Mary thought she saw a glimmer of blue beneath his thumb, but then it was gone.

Suliman convulsed. His eyes rolled back into his head, and then his body slumped into the bench, muscles loose and lax. Mary stepped up as quick as she could and moved around the table. She reached over and pulled at him, tugging him up until he was sitting upright again and she could get a good look at him. She stared into his eyes. They were as dark as ever but different now. Emptier.

“Suliman? Did you mark him too? Will he have protection? Will the angels watch over him?”

She spent another few minutes trying to get a response, any response, out of him. No amount of cajoling, talking or pleading did anything at all. Nothing. Not a single word though she could swear that he was conscious. No word to tell her whether she’d done the right thing; no light of truth, or cloud of darkness to tell her she’d damned her son's soul to hell as well as her own.

Feeling both a fool and a coward, she arranged his lax body as comfortably as she could, knowing that the others in the bar had watched her, and would remember her. She left Suliman behind, tipping the bartender a twenty to make sure that he was taken care of. She grabbed Dean, bundled him into car, and drove home as fast as she could, not remembering her promise to Ellen until hours afterward.

All she wanted was to be home, where John was waiting for her. Home, where her hearts were.

All three of them.


End file.
